“Yeah, I can still drink it, still feels good.”
“What about food?”
“It serves no purpose, all my body needs is blood.”
“What do you do about that?”
“The butcher’s shop.”
Bill chuckled, but she looked deadly serious.
“Hey, it isn’t funny. I can’t stand it, but not like I have a whole lot of options, it’s that or die.”
“You’re already dead.”
“Well, die for good or whatever. What do you think happens to Vampires when we die?”
“I should imagine you will be judged the same as the rest of us. If you have preyed on humans then you’ll go to Hell, which is most if not all Vampires,” said Bill.
Harriet went quiet. It was clear to Bill that she had drunk human blood at some point in her new life, whether she wanted to or not. He didn’t care though, he would judge her on her actions, not her past. She had proven a worthy ally to him.
“So you used to be a priest?” she asked.
“Well I still am, I just have no parish, and do not abide by the word of the Church.”
“Why not?”
“I still do not fully understood who is involved and why, but I can tell you that Bishop Williams, my former boss, knew that Rainer intended to hunt me down. Maybe he didn’t know the extent to which Rainer would go, but he did nothing to stop him.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes, the Church is not stepping in Rainer’s way, or the other Lords. They fear the war which could be ignited by standing against them.”
“Will that not bring war eventually anyway?”
“That, or the Church will just crumble, losing ever more power until it serves no purpose at all.”
“Alright, it’s time I headed out.”
“Okay, good work today.”
“You got a plan for tomorrow?” asked Harriet.
“Sort of making it up as I go, meet me here at Murphy’s tomorrow, same deal.”
Chapter 7
Marshall awoke to yet another quiet and lonely morning. Gone was the reassuring feeling of his wife by his side and the sound of his daughters playing. In the distance, he could just make out the sound of work starting in the local factories. He felt some satisfaction though that morning, knowing that he had done some serious damage.
The evening’s exploits the day before would have made Rainer look weak and foolish among the rich and powerful of the city. Bill could only imagine the rage he must be in. Good, through that rage he would make foolish mistakes. If Rainer didn’t know it was Marshall who was working against him, he soon would.
Through finally having struck back against those who had wronged him, Bill was beginning to settle and relax into his more typical cool nature. He needed his next target. Without any knowledge of where Rainer’s Coven slept through the day, he would have to continue pursuing their business interests. He wondered if perhaps Harriet could shed some light on their sleeping habits, but that was for later.
For the first time in days he genuinely felt hungry, rather than just eating the bare minimum he forced himself to do for maintaining his strength. Not only that he felt the desire just to ride through the streets, to relax and enjoy it. Death and destruction had been around him for weeks, a day of relaxation was most welcome.
He thought for a minute, if he should be wasting his time on anything that didn’t bring him further to his goal of bringing down the Coven. He didn’t care, his body still ached and his head was sore. Bill had been in a daze for days, focusing only when adrenaline flowed through his body. He put on his usual attire, never leaving his weapon belt at home.
Closing up the lockup and in the refreshing light of the morning, Bill mounted his bike and hit the road. He was drawn to a small cafe that his team had often visited after their late night missions for the Brotherhood. It was a cheap and basic establishment, but was worth it alone for the sense of nostalgia.
Bill sat alone in the cafe with his breakfast and coffee. Nobody spoke to him, aside from a few words from the waitress who served him. Perhaps a lone man with a hardened expression, and a look of trouble about him, wasn’t too approachable. He didn’t mind as it was a nice quiet breakfast. He thought the whole time about the mornings he had spent there with his three friends after some rough missions.
He finished up his coffee, and as he left threw down a tip. The cash made him think about his financial situation. He would need money before long, since he no longer had any kind of wage and no savings. All he had left in the world was his spartan lockup and everything it contained. He was fighting against wealthy individuals, but also corrupt ones, it was time they put some money in his pocket.
Stepping out onto the street, Bill looked up and down, looking at the people of the city going about their business. The existence of Vampires was common knowledge, and yet the general population did their utmost to ignore the situation, some even not believing. Some still felt that Vampires were just wealthy gangs presenting themselves as Vampires to scare those they dealt with. The Vampires had done a good job of compounding this doubt, downplaying their origins.
What was certain was that standing in the light of day, Bill was sure that everyone he looked at was human, a fact he could never be sure of when the sun went down. There was still no conclusive way to identify a Vampire visually, unless their teeth were exposed. Even then, a number of false positives had been witnessed, mostly due to fancy dress or Goth Vampire wannabes.
Having nothing to do in the day was a pleasant experience for Marshall, but he was all too aware of how much of his life was missing, a gaping hole that could only be partially filled with revenge. He climbed onto his bike and headed for his old church, out of routine more than anything else. It wasn’t sensible to be anywhere near any location that could be tied to him, but he no longer cared.
His bike rolled on down the road towards his old parish, the spire tragically missing from the landscape. He could already feel a tingling in his spine. It felt strange to approach the site. The tall building used to cast a shadow into the street, but now that it was gone, the whole district felt empty.
Marshall stopped his bike on the street beside the ruins of the building, just where he would always park up. He had left his bike old Harley in exactly the same location the week before, but it had evidently been removed. The site remained cordoned off, not by police cordons, but yellow and black hazard tape. Nobody was treating the scene as that of a crime.
Half of the walls were still standing, but the roof and windows were gone, the doors completely missing also. Much of the brickwork was black and burnt. There were wreaths of flowers placed around the front wall and either side of the open doorway. He stood on the road and looked at the derelict building. It was utterly beyond salvage.
The street was quiet as there were no houses within a hundred yards of the former parish. Bill stepped under the safety cordon to the open doorway. He had many fond memories of entering his church. Looking through, his mind was projecting the way it used to look before. He thought of all his parishioners, people who had become his friends and neighbours. He imagined he could see his family, but they were all gone.
Not one person who was there the night of the massacre survived, no one, but him. Not a single person seemed to know or care what had happened, and nobody would believe his words any longer. Without the support of the Church, and having no one left to back him up, Bill knew he was more likely be sent to an institution rather than be taken seriously.
The world was occupied by many forces of evil, but not wholly. It was time those wicked forces knew what it felt like to live in fear, to have nightmares about the monsters who would hunt and kill them. Marshall was becoming more than just a hunter, more than just a man who wanted revenge. He was becoming the righteous hammer of God.
Lifting the cordon, Bill stepped through onto the dusty and ruined site. The floor was thick with black and grey soot. It struck him that the ashes of so many people he had known
and loved were scattered among the charred remains of the church. Looking around it was clear that the flames had engulfed and destroyed everything of note. The brickwork of the walls was all that had survived the inferno.
Marshall stood, forgetting the church and thinking about the sight he had beheld from the cross. He remembered the faces of the Vampires who had left him there to die. They had done their worst to him, but it was not enough. Now he would show them that even the most evil of creatures can live in fear.
A shoe scuffed the entrance, causing Bill to turn sharply, drawing his Mateba and lifting it to a firing position. Two men stood before him, both wearing suits. He didn’t recognise either of them, but they had the look of officialdom about them. They both had handguns drawn, matching Glocks, they didn’t appear to want to kill him.
“Bill Marshall?”
“Yes.”
“Sir, I am Detective Frank Matthews.”
Bill looked at the two men, studying them intently, they certainly had the look of plain clothes cops about them.
“Show me some ID,” he said.
“Alright, take it easy, I am reaching for my badge.”
The officer pulled out his leather detective’s wallet from beneath his jacket and held it out for Marshall to see. Everything appeared legitimate, and the fact that they had not fired first made him believe their story. He lowered his gun and slipped it back into its holster.
“Guys, you gave me a scare.”
“Bill Marshall, you are under arrest for the murder of your wife, children, and the parishioners of this former church.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Please put your hands on your head, Sir!”
Marshall had to think quickly to make sense of the situation. It was understandable why he would be a suspect, as he was the only person who should have been in the building and yet somehow miraculously survived. It would be a hard sell to convince the authorities of his innocence, especially as the crimes he had committed were rapidly growing, whether it was morally right or not.
Options ran rapidly through Bill’s mind. He had decided that that he would not let any single person stand in his way, but now he had reached a dilemma. As far as he could tell, the two men who stood before him were respectable and upstanding men of the law. They fought evil and injustice just as he did, his conscience would not allow him to harm them.
“You’re making a mistake here, men. My family was in this church when it went up!”
“You’re pretty heavily armed for a grieving husband and father.”
“Please don’t take me in, I have work to do.”
“Sorry, sir, but you’ll have to come with us.”
The officer who had been talking holstered his pistol and pulled out his handcuffs as the other covered him. The detective slipped the cuffs onto his right hand and then pulled both down behind his back, securing the other. Bill was in an impossible situation, his mind conflicted. No matter what, his morals would not let him harm them, no matter how twisted he had become by the desire for revenge.
The two officers led him out to their patrol car, a typical unmarked Ford Crown Victoria. He thought about reasoning with them further, but he quickly realised the futility of it. The two officers of the law had been given their orders, they would never break them for a stranger. Bill had no option but to go with them and hope to clear his name quickly.
The detective opened his coat and looked at the weapon belt that Marshall wore around him. He looked up in surprise.
“Bit much for a priest wouldn’t you say?” he asked.
“Not in my life,” replied Bill.
The suspicious officer unclipped the belt by its silver buckle and pulled it away from Bill, looking in astonishment at everything on it. He studied each of the weapons carefully.
“This looks like a Vampire hunting kit, what the hell were you expecting to do?”
“You have your duties and I have mine.”
“Alright, get in the car!”
Another thought went through Marshall’s head. In a police cell and with no weapons he was a prime target for the Vampires who would be looking for him. He knew he needed to get out of the situation as quickly as possible. The car started up and lurched forward onto the road.
“Hey, guys, you know I didn’t kill my own family, right?”
“We don’t know what you did.”
“But you wouldn’t, would you? Burn down a church with almost everyone you knew and loved inside?”
“Hell no, but there are some crazy folk in this world, we need to be sure you’re not one of them.”
“If you hold me at the station without my weapons there’s a good chance I will not survive the night.”
“And why would that be?”
“The men who burnt the church down and murdered my family, they left me for dead that night. The second they know I am alive they will throw everything they have at me.”
The detective in the passenger seat, the one who had spoken before, turned towards him.
“Look Bill, my name is Detective Matthews. I will ensure nobody gets to you. Anyway, nobody would dare harm you in the precinct.”
Marshall dipped his head. He was getting nowhere. The detective was towing the party line when he knew full well, that if hardened criminals wanted to get to him, they would.
“So, Bill, you gonna tell us what you were doing wandering around the streets with this much hardware?”
“It’s for self-defence.”
“Expect to be attacked by many Vampires?”
“Yes.”
“This isn’t the movies. They don’t just grab people off the street.”
“No, but it was Vampires who killed my family, who else would have it in them to burn a church down with everyone in it?”
“They wouldn’t be the first people in history to do it, trust me.”
Something caught Marshall’s eye up ahead. He squinted to make sense of it. Three bikers on racing bikes were parked in the road and blocking their way. They were all wearing full visor helmets and looked as if they were waiting for their car.
“What the hell is this?” asked the driver.
“Guys, trust me, get is the hell out of here!” shouted Bill.
The car rolled on, neither detective knew what to make of the situation, but then neither did they understand the danger that they were in having Marshall in their car. They got gradually closer, but the three bikers showed no intention of moving. When they got with fifty feet the three men lifted weapons, Mac 11s that were slung around their sides.
“Fuck! Get down!” shouted Matthews.
The driver veered the car off to their right down a side street as the gunmen opened fire. Fifty rounds hit the front and side of the car before it could get out of sight. The side windows of the car caved in and the windshield smashed and cracked in many places. Bill heard the gunfire stop as they took the bend, he got back up.
“Step on it!” shouted Bill.
The car lurched forward with a kick down on the gas, racing dangerously fast down the residential area.
“Simmons, you ok?” asked Matthews.
The driver looked over to the other detective, his face was already pale, his eyes showing fear.
“Oh, Christ!”
“They got me.”
He pulled his jacket aside, revealing a heavily blood stained shirt. He was badly hurt and would certainly soon lose consciousness.
“We can’t stop!” shouted Bill.
“What do you suggest we do?”
“Keep moving and give me my gun!”
“I can’t do that!”
“Do you want to die here?”
The detective frowned, it was a desperate situation for all involved, but he would not let his partner die.
“Alright, turn around!”
Bill turned in his seat, showing the cuffs to the detective. He looked out through the rear window that had two bullet holes in it. He was amazed that he hadn�
�t been hit, the low calibre and body of the car giving just enough protection to keep him from harm. He could already hear the engines of the bikes roaring towards them before they came into view. There was no chance of outrunning the high power bikes.
“Come on, quickly!” shouted Bill.
The cuffs around his wrists clicked as they were released, he turned quickly to have his weapon belt thrown into his lap.
“Don’t let me regret this, Marshall!”
“There’ll be nothing to regret if we don’t make it out of here!”
Marshall pulled out the Mateba from his belt. He swung the cylinder out, checking that the officer has not removed the shells. He clocked the cylinder back into place and clicked the hammer back. As he looked up, the first of the bikers was approaching the car and had his Ingram lifted to fire.
“Get down!” shouted Bill.
The tailgate and back window were peppered with 9mm rounds. Bill had his back on the rear bench. The second the firing stopped, he slammed his foot up through the rear window, smashing out a firing hole. He lifted his Mateba in a two-handed grip and took quick aim at the first target. He fired repeatedly. The low recoil and short trigger pull of the double action Mateba kept a tight grouping.
The six .44 magnum rounds hit hard against his target, forcing the rider off his bike, sliding on down the road after them as the bike smashed into the kerb at the side. Before the man had even stopped sliding, Bill had flicked out the cylinder and emptied the hot brass cases onto the floor of the car. He pulled out a speed loader from his belt and slammed it into the gun, twisting it off locking the weapon shut.
The second biker opened fire, the bullets whistled through the car, one skimmed Bill’s arm, causing him to recoil slightly in pain. He lifted the Mateba back to his shoulder, and fired three shots into the face of his target, the darkened visor shattering. The rider lifted his hands in shock and fear as the rays of sunlight pierced his helmet. He fell from his bike and slid into a parked car.
Before he could acquire his last target, bullets rang out. Blood filled the car as two rounds hit Simmons in the back of the head. The car veered off into a parked SUV, bouncing off the side of the truck. The Ford was sideways across the road, Matthews stunned and Simmons dead. Bill tried the locks but the doors wouldn’t open from the inside, being a police cruiser.
Judge of the Damned (Vampire Storm, Book 1) Page 10